


Prismatic Radiance

by Maewn



Series: Beyond the reaches of Sea, Sky and Stars [5]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Startouch lore, magic fights, multiple Archmages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: It is the age of Earth, a time before the Dark magic has come to be.Rare is it, when Archmages battle, for the land itself quivers from their deadly force. And this day, two of the strongest clash at Xadia's northernmost coast.





	Prismatic Radiance

**The Age of Earth, fifty years prior to the discovery of Dark magic, the northmost coast of Xadia**

The ground is shaking, a rolling swell of earth that makes Ladwyr shield herself, the power of the Moon weakened by the day, being enough to keep the dirt from showering her pale hair. She curses lowly. Moonshadow magic works best during the day if one has a focus, and hers she had left in her room before the morning council.

Phyris, seated beside her seems as calm as anything, the swell parting around them as if cut by a blade’s sweeping strike.

The Earthblood Archmage has never been ruffled by anything, Ladwyr thinks, studying their stern and tranquil expression. Wispy bone-white hair curls around their ageless face, pale green eyes closed in meditation.

Ladwyr catches sight of Samos, drifting on an air current overhead, and waves them over.

The Skywing elf isn’t very tall, their dark hair held back in a windswept bun, yellow eyes gleaming as they float to hover five feet off the ground, tawny wings beating rapidly.

Samos is the most comfortable in their element and Ladwyr rarely sees them standing on the ground; stillness aggravates them.

“What’s going on?” Ladwyr asks.

“Canna and Aaravos are fighting again,” Samos says, twisting their hands. “Elleth is keeping an eye on them. They were arguing and then, I don’t know who started it, but next thing _I_ know there’s magma erupting out of the ground and then there’s earthquakes-it’s a bloody mess.”

“They will be fine,” Phyris says, their whisper-quiet voice somehow audible over an echoing crack of thunder.

A massive lightning bolt slams into the landscape, turning the world white for a moment.

“Are you sure?” Samos says, squinting. “Cause I think someone just set the other on fire. Three guesses as to who.”

“Canna,” both Ladwyr and Phyris say at once.

“Aaravos doesn’t have the same innate grasp of Sun that she does,” Phyris says, “Ladwyr, help an elder up. I fear I must talk sense into our thick-headed colleagues.”

No one is on fire by the time the trio reach the shoreline, at least not actively on fire. Elleth’s tall form is shielded within a sphere of water, her features blurred by the shifting current.

Aaravos’s robes are smoldering and the Startouch elf looks furious, and Canna looks equally as angry, her red hair whipping about in the winds that gust past.

White light slams into a hastily raised wall of earth and Canna drops the wall, before lashing out with flame, her voice high and mocking, prompting a snarl from Aaravos as he counters.

Both Archmages are hissing insults at each other, Canna’s fire crashing against Aaravos’s light, again and again, the weight of so much magic in the air making Ladwyr’s head hurt.

“You want a fucking fight?!” Canna roars, and the ground quavers, cracks open, heat spilling out, steam rising - “I’ll give you a fucking fight!!”

The explosion is deafening, sending Ladwyr, Phyris, and Samos hurtling back.

Ladwyr can’t see anything for several heartbeats, her vision gone white, and then Samos is above her, wings beating frantically.

Elleth is a blurry figure swathed in blue, and her hands are pressed to Ladwyr’s forehead, cold as a northern sea.

“Breathe, little one,” Elleth commands, her grey eyes hard and Ladwyr tries but can’t. She is choking on nothing, gasping for air that will not come.

Panic fills her, suffuses her with a terror unlike anything she’s ever felt.

Then there is a hand over her heart, and a command, hard and cold as the light of the Morning star itself, _“Breathe.”_

Air floods her lungs, relief coursing through her veins as she looks up into the glittering white eyes of the Startouch Archmage Aaravos. Power washes over her, healing the small cuts she’d gained when she’d fallen.

“ _Ladwyr,”_ he says quietly. _“How are you feeling?”_

“Better,” she manages to gasp after a moment. “The others?”

“ _Mostly unharmed,”_ Aaravos says, looking past her, lifting his hand from her skin to take her hand instead, _“Canna is unconscious and a little bruised. Phyris has a few scrapes. I’ve got burns from Canna’s fire, but other than that...”_

“How bad are the burns?” Ladwyr asks.

“Nothing time will not mend,” Elleth says, frowning at Aaravos. “This fight should not have happened. You, Aaravos, should not have risen to her taunts.”

“ _She accuses my people of standing by, of not aiding the other elves,”_ Aaravos hisses. _“You cannot tell me that if she accused your people of the same, you would have acted differently.”_

“If she had accused us of such,” Elleth says lowly, “I would have not let it come to a physical fight. There are other ways, Aaravos, to win a battle. You know there is truth to her words, else why would it bother you so.”

Aaravos scowls and looks away, his hand tightening around Ladwyr’s.

It is true, Ladwyr knows that the Startouch do not tend to involve themselves in the lives of the other Elven races. Aaravos was the first Archmage of their people to step into the arrangement of Archmages known as the Radiant, in nearly seven hundred years.

The last Startouch Archmage had turned away from the gathering when a terrible illness struck their people and all petitions for aid had been denied. Desperate, the Startouch had funneled all their magical energy into a plea to the very Stars themselves.

And the Stars had answered, when the other elves had not.

So the Startouch had isolated themselves in their sorrow and grief. In time, Aaravos had been born, and the Archmages once again numbered six, instead of five.

“ _Our history is...complicated,”_ Aaravos says, _“We Startouch have long memories. Five thousand souls were carried to the dark before the Stars, may they be blessed, granted us aid. Aid that we would not have had to seek had the other elves helped us! And even then, we lost our Archmage in the casting of such a spell! One life for a nation, and it was our brightest and greatest.”_

Elleth purses her lips, opens her mouth to speak, and Aaravos hisses lowly.

“ _Don’t.”_

It is not well known, but Aaravos’s mother, Altumanina, is the great-granddaughter of that noble Archmage; Aaravos’s anger was personal. The Archmage Rahma, a name that meant mercy, had been compassionate, ardent in their protection of their people, wise beyond their years. The loss of such an individual had hurt the Startouch dearly.

It was no small wonder that it had taken seven hundred years for the Startouch to birth another mage that could even claim the title of Archmage, Ladwyr thought.

It was even whispered, though not by many, that Aaravos was Rahma reborn. For who else could wield such power with so few years?

“Aaravos?” Ladwyr asks, and he looks at her, anger fading away to concern.

“ _What is it?”_

“Can you help me up?” she asks.

Aaravos nods and lifts her carefully, setting her on her feet and stepping slightly back, releasing her hand.

Then he kneels, head bowed. _“Forgive me, Ladwyr,”_ he says, and he speaks in perfectly accented Moonshadow elvish now. _“You were hurt because I...engaged in a battle that should not have been fought. Though I have mended what injuries I can, I still caused you to be harmed. Any recompense that you ask of me, within reason, shall be paid.”_

“I forgive you, dear heart,” Ladwyr says, kneeling down to clasp his hands, pulling him up. “I think a few lessons of Star magic will suffice.”

Aaravos blinks at her. _“As you wish, Ladwyr.”_

Elleth sighs, shaking her head. “Come, we still need to wake up Canna and resolve this,” she waves a webbed hand at Aaravos.

“ _I am not the problem,”_ Aaravos insists.

“No, you’re part of it,” Elleth says, walking over to where Phyris is pulling a groaning Canna to her feet. “Come on.”

Aaravos rolls his eyes but follows, Ladwyr trailing after.

Well, she thinks to herself, that went better than expected. Last time, they’d sunk part of the coastline, this was definitely an improvement.


End file.
